Nobody
by hazelle
Summary: Because nobody can be expected to deal with this much pain, even a super powered alien. A look at a possible future for Clark and friends. Extremely AU one shot. Momentarily taken down
1. Chapter 1

There are a few Smallville scenes that are so ominous they are just begging to be screwed around with. So that's what I did. Watch out for the violence, suicidal tendencies and swearing. What a lovely little fic it is.

Huge thanks to htbthomas for beta-reading!

****

Nobody

"He used to be a somebody."

"This 'friend' of yours? Only used to?" The Psychiatrist's pen pauses inquisitively over the sheet of paper.

"Yes. Only used to."

"And what became of that somebody?" The Psychiatrist leans forward, closer to the Patient, but the cell remains doused in shadow.

"He found out something about himself that he couldn't live with."

"But he did," the Psychiatrist points out, logically optimistic.

"Because he had to," comes the cryptic reply.

---

_The sun's warm glow comforted and soothed away his worries. He closed his eyes and let the square of light wash over him, and for a second, just a second, he was tempted to forget the troubles of that morning. So what if Lex Luthor had hit him at 60 miles an hour? So what if he'd miraculously survived? So what if Lex Luthor had probably seen?_

_"Clark?"_

_He reluctantly opened his eyes and let reality hit him. Jonathan Kent was walking towards him, his hands holding an oddly wrapped package and his face holding such gravity that Clark immediately felt like running. Repressing a sigh against the oncoming berating for ruining the thresher, Clark looked back towards the sunset as his father took a seat beside him._

_Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but what he said came as a surprise. "It's time, son."_

_"Time for what?" Clark replied bitterly, eyes fixing curiously on the package in spite of himself._

_"The truth," Jonathan said steadily. "I want you to take a look at something." Clark's bewildered eyes flicked up to meet his._

_Jonathan directed their attention towards the package; he slowly began unwrapping from its cocoon of cloth with intimate care and patience._

_"We think it's from your parents - your real parents."_

_Clark's eyebrows raised quizzically as the cloth fell away to reveal a strange sort of metal plaque. He took it and turned it over in his hands, noting the strange symbols down the sides._

_"What does it say?"_

_This time Jonathan sighed. "I tried to decipher it for years but it's not written in any language known to man."_

_"What do you mean?" Clark had a sneaking suspicion but there was no way he would voice it out loud._

_"Your real parents weren't exactly from around… here," Jonathan revealed, with a significant glance towards the telescope._

_Clark's head shot up. He stared for a crucial minute, then suddenly grinned. "What're you trying to tell me, dad? That I'm from another planet?"_

_Jonathan said nothing but his face said it all._

_"Oh, I suppose you stash my spaceship in the attic." He infused just the right amount of sarcasm into his voice to make his father wince._

_"Actually," Jonathan corrected, "It's in the storm cellar."_

_---_

_The wind buffeted him mercilessly on the way down. His eyes stung fiercely, but not because of the wind. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, but not because of the wind._

_He closed his eyes and forgot to breathe. It didn't hurt much when he hit the concrete. The only evidence was a few already yellowing bruises on his torso. Not a scratch on his face, thankfully._

_He pulled himself up and dusted himself off, and it was only then that he opened his eyes and remembered to breathe._

_He walked home instead of running, and when his parents inevitably asked where he'd been, Clark told them he'd been bumming around the Torch with Chloe._

---

"Let's talk about his life before. What did he think of himself, back when he was a somebody?" the Psychiatrist asks after a slight pause. The Patient seems to consider the question thoughtfully.

"He was conflicted. He wanted to play the hero; he wanted to be there for his friends. He ended up doing neither."

"And what about these friends? Were they close to him?" The Psychiatrist listens carefully for her Patient's reaction to this question.

"That was impossible." There is derision in the Patient's voice. The Psychiatrist quickly jots down the display of emotion.

---

_He'd chosen the storm cellar as a suitable setting, finding it appropriate since the solid proof of his secret had lived down here for the last thirteen years._

_Pete followed him somewhat apprehensively down the creaky old steps, then stood, shivering slightly, close to the door. Clark walked a few steps further into the room, opened his mouth to speak twice and twice closed it. Eventually Pete broke the silence._

_"What happened to you? How did it happen?" he asked. His voice was not accusatory but Clark still flinched as if he'd shouted. Pete thought he was a meteor freak._

_"Nothing… happened… I was born this way," he told him evenly, and silently congratulated himself for keeping his voice so steady. Pete's eyes narrowed._

_"The spaceship is mine," Clark continued. Pete's eyes widened. The silence stretched, until Clark clarified, "I came to earth in the meteor shower."_

_"The spaceship is yours," Pete eventually repeated dully. "You came to earth in the meteor shower." His voice suddenly rose in pitch and he paced away from the stairs, waving his arms wildly for emphasis. "I'm best friends with E.T.! Best friends with E fuckin' T!" Pete didn't notice the hurt in Clark's eyes as he stalked angrily around the cramped room._

_Clark let the dust settle and eventually Pete's pacing and sporadic swearing fits calmed. At length he turned to Clark, calmer now, and said, "So you're some sort of… what, you're not even human?"_

_---_

_Pete got over himself because he had to. Within the next day they were friends again. Within the next week they were best friends once more. Within the next month Pete was dead._

_It was Martha who took the call on an innocent enough October night, a bowl of pastry mix in her hands with the phone balanced precariously between her left ear and shoulder. Clark sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee and some trig homework._

_"Hello? Yes, Clark's in… what?"_

_Clark caught the bowl before it could shatter on the floor. Martha hung up the phone and turned unseeingly to her son. He was shocked to see tears welling in her eyes._

_"Clark…"_

_"Mom? What is it?" He put a steadying hand on her shoulder and led her to a seat at the kitchen table._

_She sat, rigid, staring straight ahead, and when she spoke it was in a shell-shocked monotone. "Pete… he's dead. Murdered."_

_The world whirled suddenly and Clark had to sit down, too. "No," he shook his head adamantly, "Pete can't be dead." His oldest friend. His best friend. His only friend who knew the truth. Dead._

_Martha went on, oblivious to her own tears and Clark's denial. "He was shot just outside of Wichita. Once in the head. He was tortured first. They don't know who did it."_

_But Clark knew who did it. He stared so long and hard at the wooden table top that his X-Ray vision flashed on and he found himself staring mindlessly at the bones in his toes. _

_"All my fault." He whispered._

---

"What did he aspire to be when he was little?" the Psychiatrist changes tack in hopes of a more informative response.

"He never really thought about it." No such luck.

"And when he was older?" the Psychiatrist persists.

"To help. He wanted to help those weaker than himself."

"So where did he go wrong?" the Psychiatrist asks the obvious question, trying to hide any curiosity.

"He was naïve enough to think that he could control his destiny."

"But he couldn't," the Psychiatrist prompts eagerly, despite the promise of professionalism.

"Of course not. He was doomed from the start," the Patient replies stoically to cover his derision.

---

_Before, he'd always felt a sense of belonging to something greater than himself when he'd looked at the ship. Now when he looked at it, he'd never felt more isolated in his life. The key sat like a cold, dead weight in his pocket._

_Behind him, he heard his father sigh sadly and start to leave. Clark finally tore his gaze from the ship and faced Jonathan. "I figured out what this is," he held up the rectangular artifact from his parents, fingering the key in his pocket with his spare hand. "It's the ship's heart."_

_"Really?" Jonathan was obviously at a loss for what to say. He took the heart from Clark and surveyed it speculatively. "Have you used it yet?"_

_"I didn't want to do it alone," Clark replied honestly. He'd had more than enough of being alone for today._

_Jonathan shot a look at the silent ship. "Let's do it together."_

_Wordlessly, Clark fished the octagonal key from his other pocket and approached the ship. Without hesitation he placed the key into the indent and waited as the ship rumbled then rose smoothly into the air. A blue light shone faintly from within until the top slotted down in bars and revealed the inner chamber._

_"It's hard to believe you were ever that small," Jonathan commented wistfully as he handed his son back the heart. It glowed with a pure white light as he inserted it into a side of the inner chamber._

_The Kryptonian language spilled out in a spiral across the ship's innards, reflecting alien symbols onto the cellar's walls. Clark stared at the symbols like a dead man._

_"What is it, son?"_

_"It's a message from my biological father…" He stopped and shook his head slightly. "I'm sure I'm reading it wrong…"_

_"Why, what does it say?" Jonathan prompted with more than a hint of curiosity._

_"'On this third planet from this star Sol, you will be a God among men. They are a flawed race; rule them with strength, my son. That is where your greatness lies.'" The message sank in and rattled horrifyingly around his brain. He stepped back and walked agitatedly away. "I think I was sent here to conquer. What kind of planet am I from!"_

_Left beside the ship, Jonathan glanced over at his son. "Maybe you did misread it, Clark, but even if you didn't, it's you who decides what kind of life you'll lead. Not me, not your mother, not your biological parents." The steel in his voice betrayed his anger, but at what, Clark could only guess._

_"What if it's a part of who I am?" Clark retorted, his ire rising, too. "Is that the kind of person I will become!"_

_"Clark Kent, you're here to be a force for good, not a force for evil." Jonathan told him sternly. Clark wanted to believe him more than anything._

_"But, how can you be so sure?"_

_"Because I am your father. I raised you, and I know you better than anyone." In an effort to make Clark understand, he put his hands on his shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes._

_This time Clark had no response ready, but the truth was, he wasn't even sure how well he understood himself. Jonathan drew him into a hug as he hesitated, trying to soothe away his son's fears just as he had when he was a child._

_Clark hugged back rather unenthusiastically. He couldn't bring himself to interact with normal human beings when the ship lay only a few feet away. The metal reflected a select few rays of light from the open cellar door and absorbed others into its unknown depths as if to show how unnatural the ship - and he - really was. It still hummed quietly and threw the alien writings of his destiny across his face._

_---_

_The usual dank emptiness greeted him like an old friend. Clark had ran straight to the caves as soon as he'd managed to shake off his Dad. He clutched the key in one shaking hand, concealed inside his jacket pocket. He skipped the perfunctory scan of x-ray vision to check no one was around and instead strode directly to the inner chamber. There he paced along the length of the wall like a caged animal, pausing periodically to glare angrily at said wall. His eyes appeared to glow a fiery orange and when he spoke his voice shook out of all control._

_"I understand, ok? I get your message," he broke off and gathered himself together. "You can't make me do anything I don't want to do. I don't want to do this. I won't do this. You hear me Jor-El? I'm not playing your sick little game, I'm not like you, I won't become you!" A mocking silence greeted his outburst. "TALK TO ME!"_

_Clark ran to the wall and slammed the octagonal disc into the indentation. The key fell lifelessly to the floor as if to purposely spite him._

_Clark stared at the dead symbols for several long minutes until his sight began to blur. He blinked furiously and was surprised to feel tears running down his cheeks. Defeated, the anger drained from him and he sunk to the floor, closing his eyes. The cave remained as it always had, dead and empty._

---

"I see. Let's talk about his career. How did he get into journalism?"

"He had a friend to help him out with that. It was always her dream, not his." The Psychiatrist almost detects a hint of wistfulness in the Patient's voice.

"A close friend, then?"

"As close as she could be without knowing his secret, and the closest friend he ever had once she did." Something in the Patient's tone sparks the Psychiatrist's curiosity again.

"Anything more than a close friend?"

"At times. She was his rock. He was her first love," the Patient says carefully.

"The love was not reciprocated?"

"At times." There was definite wistfulness if the Patient's voice now.

"How did that end?"

"She couldn't be his rock anymore."

---

_He immediately felt like very carefully backing away and closing the door upon finding the Torch full of a frenzied Chloe._

_No such luck. She dashed up to him and started talking in high-speed-can-you-believe-the-nerve mode._

_"I can't get a statement from LuthorCorp! I mean a huge chemical explosion causes the town to relive their worst nightmares, what is that! And there's no sigh of a lawsuit! I mean it's like this whole thing is just being completely forgotten about!"_

_Chloe paused long enough to take a breath and Clark raised an eyebrow in the intermission._

_"What!" she exclaimed, suddenly rounding on Clark. "What! What?"_

_"I've seen you worked up before, but this is amped even for you," Clark answered with concern as he set his bag down._

_"Yeah, I guess it's just misplaced anxiety," Chloe stated, looking away to avoid eye contact and prevent Clark from seeing the depth of her distress. "I found my Mom, Clark." Chloe blurted._

_"Wow… that's, Chloe, that's great!" Clark smiled encouragingly and moved around the desk to be closer to her._

_"Yeah, I mean I put my feelers out for years and something finally, three months ago came through, so… um… turns out she's…" Chloe looked away again. "She's not exactly MIA, so to speak." Pausing, the pressure of his gaze made her look him square in the eyes as she said it. "She's in a mental institution."_

_Like the cork popping out of a bottle, Chloe couldn't hold her tears at bay any longer. She let out a small sob and wiped her eyes quickly in hopes of not having a complete breakdown._

_Clark sighed quietly. "I'm sorry." There was nothing else to say._

_"The real kicker is it's hereditary." Even as she said it she knew there was no chance of her face staying mascara-free._

_"Listen, hey, if there's one thing I've learned it's that you're not destined to follow in your parents' footsteps, alright?" Clark said soothingly, putting his hands on her shoulders._

_It wasn't alright and it never would be because no amount of soothing words could change the fact that her Mom was in a mental ward. "Thanks," she said instead, because there was nothing else to say._

_In an effort to stop crying, she edged away from Clark and cast about for a different topic._

_"So, popular question of the day: what is Clark Kent's worst nightmare?" She said in overly-chipper voice that she knew Clark wouldn't buy for a second._

_"When I woke up." Uncomfortable with the subject change but accepting it for Chloe's sake, he sat on the nearest desk and continued. "Everyone I knew was gone. I was completely alone."_

_Chloe smiled sadly. "I wish I could say that I'll always be there for you, but… somehow I get the feeling that may be a promise I can't keep."_

_---_

_His breath left a thick mist on the glass. He didn't wipe it away, but let it disintegrate slowly into water vapour, revealing the young woman behind the glass line that separated the sane from the insane. Clark wondered how they knew where to draw that line._

_Chloe didn't appear to notice him for a long time. She sat, hunched over with her arms strapped awkwardly across her chest, in the furthest corner. Clark hadn't wanted to visit her for a long time. For the longest time he'd told himself that it was a dream, that he was the insane one, that he hadn't known someone called Chloe Sullivan who was his first kiss and his last best friend._

_Chloe muttered incoherently in the corner and Clark blinked back tears. He carefully raised his hand and tapped on the glass. Chloe's reaction was slow and uncoordinated, but she looked up at him. He was devastated not to see the usual happy recognition in her eyes. Not even a flicker to suggest that she'd once loved the man standing before her._

_Clark again breathed softly on the glass and wrote the word 'Hi' backwards so that she could read it. His finger squeaked as he did so and she watched interestedly, as a baby would watch television with amused ignorance._

_Eventually she got to her feet with the ease of long practice and Clark's heart sank at the reminder of how many times he'd visited her in the three months she'd been institutionalised. She walked straight up to the glass and waited opposite him, head tilted curiously to one side. His writing eventually faded and Clark's heart jumped with hope when Chloe breathed on her side of the glass. Then she let the mist fade without attempting to write anything, smiled strangely at Clark then padded indifferently back to the furthest corner._

End of Part One

Before you go, humour me and tell me who you think the Psychiatrist and the Patient are, thanks. I'll post the last half tomorrow!


	2. Chapter 2

Hey thanks for the reviews everyone and thanks to htbthomas for beta-reading!

Nobody

Part Two

"Alright, we've established that he didn't have much of a social life. What about his family?"

"He was obviously adopted; no brothers or sisters. He grew up on a farm."

"Was he close to his parents?" the Psychiatrist asked without looking up. The pen flicked across the pages at varying speeds according to the answers the Patient gave.

"Very close. His Mom and Dad were the only ones he could talk to about his secret."

"They had a few arguments?" the Psychiatrist deduced from the previous answer.

"His father only wanted the best for him, but it was difficult sometimes. His mother worried for him a lot. They did not always see eye-to-eye."

"And he never knew his biological parents?"

"In a way."

---

_It was hard not to listen in to the sound of his father's irregular heartbeat. He caught himself at it for the third time and chastised himself. But it was so hard to tell when he breathed so shallowly._

_Jonathan's eyelids fluttered and Clark felt relief jolt through him. He wouldn't have to check that his heart was still pumping throughout the night after all._

_"Dad?" Clark hurried to his father's bedside, followed closely by Martha._

_"Sweetheart? How are you feeling?" Martha asked carefully, impulsively smoothing out the blanket on the bed._

_"Are you still here?" Jonathan croaked in a sleepy voice that held both gratefulness and disapproval. "I think you need to go back. Back home and get some rest."_

_Clark frowned but said nothing, taking in the picture of his strong father looking so weak against a bleak hospital bed._

_"Hey, Clark, don't worry about me, son. It's gonna take a whole lot more than a heart attack to keep your old man down."_

_Clark mustered a weak half-smile in response, which soon faded. "I just feel like this is all my fault," he confessed. Martha shared a look with her husband that didn't escape Clark._

_"Hey, come here," Jonathan motioned with his hand. Clark took it, careful to avoid the drip inserted in the back. "Look, there's a lot of things that you can do… but causing cardiac arrest is not one of them." Jonathan told him firmly._

_Clark hesitated, soaking up the reassuring words but finding them meaningless. "Last time you were at the doctor's, they said you had the heart of a twenty year old, just before I went to Metropolis-"_

_"If you're suggesting that your biological father has anything to do with this-" Jonathan interrupted._

_"He gave you powers to bring me home that no human was meant to have and I don't think your heart could handle it," Clark cut Jonathan off this time, raising his voice slightly to let him know he needed to finish._

_"Clark, no, there were other factors," Martha jumped in quickly._

_"If I hadn't put on that ring and abandoned you and Mom when you needed me most you wouldn't be lying here in this bed," Clark disagreed. Why couldn't they understand that he was right? They'd be arguing until the cows came home and still his parents would insist that black was white._

_"As hard as this is for you to believe, not everything that goes wrong in Smallville is Clark Kent's fault," Jonathan said with a pointed stare that told Clark not to complain._

_---_

_Water cascaded down the back of his shirt but he did not complain. His eyes were fixed with an eagle's intensity on the small group of people gathered around a freshly dug grave. The rain turned the grave soil to mud, it slopped wetly over the coffin lid, sounding like a twisted parody of a waterfall rather than the echoing pounding noise writers liked to describe in books._

_Clark watched as Martha stepped forward and laid a single white rose on the grave. Its stem took on a brown hue as the hammering rain splashed mud onto the immaculate petals._

_The priest turned the page and continued reading in a dull monotone. Clark listened in. The priest shut the black book with a final snap that made Clark jump. He turned to leave before anyone could spot him._

_Then a sudden morbid curiosity caught and held him in place. He looked back at the small ceremony. Squinting, he let his gaze sweep over the coffin. With a jolt of disgust and guilt that he hadn't felt in a long while, he sadly turned to leave again._

_For the first time he felt the rain pooling uncomfortably in his shoes. His father was six feet under because of him. Guilt wracked his heart and mind, an agony so strong he knew he could not overcome it alone. He reached into his sodden shirt pocket. A red stone glinted dangerously on his finger when his hand withdrew. He sucked in a harsh breath at the rush, the pain flooded away and his eyes glittered dangerously, and suddenly Martha had seen him. And suddenly she was running, and standing in front of him and he watched as her tears of sorrow turned to happiness._

_She drew him into a wet hug, laughing incredulously through her sobs. "Oh, Clark, I'm so glad you came! I knew you'd come for Jonathan!"_

_He twisted away. "My name is Kal."_

_Disappointed but not yet crushed, Martha hurried alongside him as he strode away, occasionally touching his arm like an annoying bluebottle._

_"Clark, honey, you need to come home. I'll get you cleaned up and we can warm up over a hot cup of cocoa-"_

_"My name is Kal," he repeated coldly and walked faster. Martha fell behind, arms still outstretched in a desperate plea._

_"Clark!"_

_"MY NAME IS KAL!" He roared back, then disappeared in a blur of black._

---

"Ah. Then it's safe to say he didn't have many meaningful relationships?" the Psychiatrist continues.

"Not meaningful, but he did have one special relationship."

"It didn't last long?"

"It lasted on and off for years. But they were wrong for each other." The wisdom of hindsight made the Patient's words strong.

"How so?"

"It was more about the angst than the love. She realised that, and tried to get out more than once."

"He didn't force her to stay?" the Psychiatrist asks hesitantly. The Psychiatrist's profession meant not a lot was seen of the good side to humanity, and the Psychiatrist had learned to expect the worst.

"Oh no… something always drew them back together. Something of an unhealthy fixation."

---

_The machines ticked and whirred incessantly, the drip forever dripped, and finally Lana stirred. Clark breathed a quiet sigh of relief, despite knowing that she was fine - well, mostly._

_"Hey," he said softly, leaning closer in concern when it took her a few seconds to focus on him._

_"How's Lex?" she asked weakly, with only the dregs of consciousness keeping her awake._

_"Lex isn't doing so good," Clark told her grimly, his expression twisting sourly._

_"I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted to help him." Somehow she always knew what he was thinking. He nodded and hastily changed the subject before they could wade into dangerous territory._

_"Um… the doctors say that you're doing better," Clark began, in an attempt to be optimistic._

_Lana grimaced and dragged the mood back down. "I almost died, Clark."_

_Wishing he'd thought to talk about something more mundane, like the weather for instance, Clark answered quietly, "I know." He didn't know quite how to respond to such a statement._

_"I always thought you were being paranoid," Lana said cryptically._

_"About what?" Clark prompted delicately._

_"That being around you is too dangerous," she was obviously aiming to continue in the same vein for a while. Clark didn't think she could make him feel any more guilty if she tried. "But it's true."_

_The vice clutching his heart squeezed painfully. "Lana-" He started to apologise._

_"It's ok, Clark. I know. You were only looking out for me," The vice opened a little to let him breathe. "But you're right," Teetering between closing or opening fully, Clark awaited his verdict like a man on death row. "I think I have to stay away from you."_

_The vice closed and locked with an especially cruel wrench._

_---_

_Her wide doe-brown eyes were the same, as was her hair, her dress-sense, her attitude. Lana looked into Clark's eyes and saw that absolutely everything about him had changed. There was a fire somewhere in the depths of his cold blue eyes that fought tooth and nail to be let out._

_"Clark!"_

_He paused only at the unfamiliar name, took her in with one glance, then continued walking._

_"Kal!" Lana tried instead, hating the way the name felt on her tongue._

_"What are you doing here?" he asked disapprovingly as he walked. Head held high, shoulders thrown back, his walk carried more arrogance than Lex Luthor's ever had. Lana had to trot just to keep a few paces behind him._

_"I came looking for you. I'm the only one left to look for you. Everyone else is…" she trailed off uncomfortably and her pace faltered. Kal whipped round to face her._

_"Dead?" he supplied and laughed a harsh laugh. Lana flinched. "What's the real reason you're here, Lana? Come to persuade me to go home and rebuild the town? To try to fix the mess that's my life? Or is the real reason in that lead box in your pocket?"_

_At his last words Lana flinched again and finally met his eyes. She shivered at the contrast she saw there. So cold yet so fiery at the same time. For a crucial minute they stared at each other, each coming to realise how much they'd both changed after all. Then Lana moved._

_Her hand darted into her pocket and seams ripped as she withdrew the small box. Her fingers fumbled frantically on the catch as she thrust it in front of her. The trouble was, Kal moved at the same time, faster than she could ever hope to be._

_He held the box high above his head, tauntingly out of her reach. For a second Lana thought he would laugh condescendingly at her then walk away as only he could do. Then he stared intently at the box in his hand and the lead melted. It bubbled over the meteor rock within, a ghastly black steam escaped and the lead-covered meteor rock dripped slowly into a harmless puddle on the ground at Lana's feet._

_Then Kal returned his attention to her, stepping over the molten mess he'd created. A strange mad anger danced in his eyes as he advanced._

_"So you thought you could bring me down with one little meteor rock? Wherever did you find it, I wonder?" The words were phrased as a question but his tone suggested otherwise._

_His face darkened and he dropped the patronizing act. "I don't make mistakes, Lana. Mistakes are for the weak, for human beings. You see, you think you know me, you think you can understand me, because on the surface, I look like you. I'm nothing like you, Lana._

_"Maybe once upon a time, I was naïve - I made mistakes. Rest assured, those mistakes have been eradicated. All mistakes must be corrected." An ominous pause followed, then, "I made a mistake in trusting you."_

_It was over in a matter of seconds. Lana screamed until her vocal cords tore and then she beat her fists on his chest until she had no energy left to spare. The molten lead still on his hand shot fiery pain in the shape of a handprint in her neck, his strong body crushed hers easily and pinned her to the floor. Oxygen turned to liquid in her lungs. There was no struggle, no chance to defend herself. There was no one there to watch her die._

_Kal stood and surveyed his handiwork for a second, then walked away as only he could do._

---

"But he played the hero growing up?" the Psychiatrist asks in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

"He tried his best."

"He didn't always succeed?"

"I think you know the answer to that question."

"Alright," the Psychiatrist admits. This Patient was sharper than previously anticipated. "So he had many enemies?"

"He had many problems, but just the one enemy."

"He didn't win?" It was the obvious assumption, but the Psychiatrist is puzzled by the Patient's reply.

"He lost a battle but the war is not yet over."

---

_Absently tracing his fingers over the yellowed page, Clark stared at the black and white picture of Naman and Sageeth with fierce concentration, as if willing it to speak to him._

_"Surprise," a voice said from nowhere. Clark glanced over the top of his book to find Lex watching him with fascination. Clark looked back at his book as if Lex wasn't there. Knowing that your best friend could turn out to be your greatest enemy wasn't wonderful for the relationship._

_Lex didn't let the unusual silent greeting bother him. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about this prophecy." He took a step closer to peer over at the picture Clark was staring so intently at. "I've got a new interpretation. Wanna hear it?"_

_"Sure," Clark replied uncomfortably._

_"May I?"_

_Clark suppressed the mad urge to stow the book safely out of sight and mind and instead offered it to Lex._

_"This Naman guy is supposed to come from the stars, have the power of ten men and shoot fire from his eyes, right?" Lex drifted over to the barn's solitary window as he spoke, seemingly entranced by the hieroglyphics._

_Clark stood up nervously behind him. "It's just an allegory, Lex," he reminded him before his friend could get carried away._

_Lex glanced up, out the window to the night sky. A single star winked and flashed at him. "I know," he reassured Clark, but the tone of his voice did not encourage confidence that he was back down to earth. "But if one person could do all that, he would be a formidable enemy."_

_Clark's eyebrows drew together at that last statement. That was far too close to home, even allowing for Lex's superior intuition. Something about the way Lex spoke raised the hairs on the back of his neck. As if Lex longed for such an enemy, an enemy that wasn't his own flesh and blood._

_"He could conquer the world," Lex steamrollered on, oblivious to Clark's growing unease. Abruptly, he shut the book with a snap and whirled to face Clark. "He could become a tyrant if no one kept him in check."_

_Pouring all his concentration into not giving himself away, Clark hoped he'd kept a poker face._

_"So I've been thinking. Anybody who'd be willing to fight him, would have to be pretty brave. Clark," Lex moved to recapture his friend's worried eyes, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe the hero of the story… is Sageeth?"_

_---_

_For the hell of it, he thought he'd burn down a city today. Maybe L.A. New York. Metropolis had been razed years ago upon his first rise to power - played host to the moment when he embraced his destiny. None of that 'stones of power and symbols on a cave wall' shit. True, Jor-El had intended for his son to rule as he ruled now, but Kal made his own rules._

_So it was with no thought that he stretched luxuriously and climbed out of bed. He hummed to himself as he took a shower and pulled on a black silk shirt. He wondered briefly if he'd ever see… what was her name? Melanie?… again as he jogged down the stone steps. He laughed sardonically when a familiar voice halted him in his tracks._

_"Having a nice day, Kal?"_

_Kal turned and smiled pseudo-friendly at Lex. Spreading his hands as if to agree his smile widened. "It would appear so, old friend. It's funny, I thought you'd be half-way around the world licking your wounds by now."_

_Smiling mirthlessly, Lex strolled closer. With his hands thrust into his expensive pockets he was the picture of casual confidence. Inside his heart pounded like a jack-hammer against his bruised ribs._

_Kal's eyes flicked searchingly over Lex as he came closer. Shocked that Lex would do something so stupid, his hands clenched into fists and he focused his gaze on Lex's left pocket. Lex suddenly swore for no apparent reason and yanked his hand free, hissing in pain. A small lead box flew from his pocket and rolled across the tarmac until it clunked gently against Kal's foot. Lex cradled his hand against his chest, sparing only a moment to inspect the perfect smoking round hole in the back of his hand._

_Kal made a show of stooping to pick up the lead box as if it was made of glass, then tossed it perversely into the air with one hand. "Lex, Lex, Lex, I thought you were above this!" he exclaimed, sounding eerily akin to Lionel Luthor. "Now Lana I could allow for… but you Lex, well, I thought you knew better."_

_"Sorry to disappoint you, but I guess we humans are all alike," Lex spat venomously, the pain clouding his previously calm façade. Kal nodded idly, watching the lead box's up and down flight rather than Lex. "What about Lana? And Chloe? Pete? Martha? Jonathan?" Lex shifted into a different gear to get a rise out of the alien._

_"Dead, insane, dead, missing annnnnnd dead," Kal reeled off emotionlessly, then looked challengingly at Lex with no trace of humour._

_"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" Lex asked sarcastically. He couldn't feel any blood soaking his shirt yet but it hurt like hell._

_Kal's eyes narrowed angrily. "Cut the crap, Lex. Why are you here?"_

_"You need to be stopped," Lex hissed._

_"Uh-huh, and this is the part where I say 'I suppose you'll be the one to do it,'" Kal stated his intent for him, letting the sarcasm twist the words into a different purpose. A rush of air and Lex was dangling five feet off the ground. Kal's steel-hard fingers dug into his neck so far that he found it impossible to speak._

_"If you think you can stop me-" Kal began with a snarl, in a flat, angry monotone that told Lex he was hopping mad. Lex raised his arms but made no attempt to free himself. Instead he made a strange gesture to the air with his left hand._

_There was a sound like a car backfiring and a hiss of air, then Kal threw Lex away from him like he'd been bitten and stumbled backwards in agony. Lex landed heavily on his back with a grunt._

_Between them the road was cracked and pulsing with a sickly green light._

_"No…" Kal turned to run from the inch long kryptonite bullet imbedded when there was another noise like a car backfiring and a second green bullet lay in his path._

_Lex pulled himself to his feet and strode, once more with his façade of cool confidence, closer to Kal._

_"Ten men," Lex spread his hands in imitation of Kal's former bravado. Kal followed his gaze to the surrounding buildings, and saw the ends of ten sniper rifles poking out from various cracks between windows and doors. "Ten green bullets," Lex continued grandly, as if explaining his designs on a new company to a board of directors. "How many green bullets will it take to kill you, Kal? I'm not sure, but I don't think it's that many," Lex finished with a triumphant smirk._

_"Lex…" Kal said helplessly. The poison in his veins was crawling up his neck, like snakes under his skin. He swayed ominously. "Lex, please…"_

_Smirking at the power he held over the most powerful being on the planet, Lex carried on oblivious to Kal's pleas. "To quote a former enemy, 'You don't go in with one plan, you go in with ten.' That's how you win the war, old friend."_

_Lex hesitated only to savour the moment, then raised his left hand, the hand with the freshly burned hole in it._

_Green agony slammed into Kal's heart, Lex became a million laughing faceless people and the tarmac was suddenly burning hot against his ice cold cheek._

---

"This somebody, what does he think of his life now?" the Psychiatrist asks curiously.

"Well that's easy." The Patient steps from the darkness and presses his hands against the dividing glass wall. The sting of green electricity burns his palms and sweat breaks out on his forehead, but his voice does not waiver.

"I rather wish I had died that day." A sad smile momentarily crosses his face, then he withdraws into the darkness again.

The Psychiatrist slowly rises and turns to leave when his voice stops her.

"I never did catch your name."

The Psychiatrist pauses and looks back. "Lois. Lois Lane."

"Goodnight, Ms. Lane," he says fondly.

Lois smiles faintly, and presses one hand to the glass. "Goodnight… Clark."

Fin

There you have it. There were some good guesses as to who the Psychiatrist and Patient were, but I'm actually glad nobody guessed correctly. ;)

Please review!


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